Troilus and Cressida
William Shakespeare
- 187 pages
- English
- ePUB (adapté aux mobiles)
- Disponible sur iOS et Android
Troilus and Cressida
William Shakespeare
Ă propos de ce livre
Classic Books Library presents this new beautiful edition of William Shakespeare's tragedy "Troilus and Cressida". Featuring a specially commissioned new biography of William Shakespeare, it is a must for Shakespeare enthusiasts and newcomers alike. Set during the Trojan War, Shakespeare's tragedy tells the story of Troilus, a Trojan prince, and Cressida, the daughter of a Trojan priest, whose romance is compromised when Cressida is exchanged as a prisoner of war and succumbs to her captor, the Greek commander, Diomedes. The play features dual plots; intertwining romance and deceit with the adjoining battle of two warring oppositions, and the play notably culminates in an uncertain end. William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616) was an English playwright, poet, and actor. He is considered to be the greatest writer in the English language and is celebrated as the world's most famous dramatist.
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Before the Tent of Achilles.
Iâll heat his blood with Greekish wine tonight,
Which with my scimitar Iâll cool tomorrow.
Patroclus, let us feast him to the height.
Here comes Thersites.
How now, thou core of envy!
Thou crusty batch of nature, whatâs the news?
Why, thou picture of what thou seemest, and idol of idiot worshippers, hereâs a letter for thee.
From whence, fragment?
Why, thou full dish of fool, from Troy.
Who keeps the tent now?
The surgeonâs box or the patientâs wound.
Well said, adversity! And what needs these tricks?
Prithee, be silent, boy; I profit not by thy talk; thou art said to be Achillesâ male varlet.
Male varlet, you rogue! Whatâs that?
Why, his masculine whore. Now, the rotten diseases of the south, the guts-griping ruptures, catarrhs, loads oâ gravel in the back, lethargies, cold palsies, raw eyes, dirt-rotten livers, wheezing lungs, bladders full of imposthume, sciaticas, lime-kilns iâ thâ palm, incurable bone-ache, and the rivelled fee-simple of the tetter, take and take again such preposterous discoveries!
Why, thou damnable box of envy, thou, what meanest thou to curse thus?
Do I curse thee?
Why, no, you ruinous butt; you whoreson indistinguishable cur, no.
No! Why art thou, then, exasperate, thou idle immaterial skein of sleave silk, thou green sarcenet flap for a sore eye, thou tassel of a prodigalâs purse, thou? Ah, how the poor world is pestered with such water-flies, diminutives of nature!
Out, gall!
Finch egg!
My sweet Patroclus, I am thwarted quite
From my great purpose in tomorrowâs battle.
Here is a letter from Queen Hecuba,
A token from her daug...